


There's Got to Be a Morning After

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Series: Dog Days of Summer [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: dogdaysofsummer, Hangover, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-17
Updated: 2005-08-17
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh God, there was singing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Got to Be a Morning After

Remus wakes up when he attempts to roll over and his progress is impeded by another body. He falls flat onto his back and lies there for a moment, wondering why everything is still moving when he's lying still. He feels like the ocean is in his head, in his blood, sloshing around and making him queasy.

He squirms, trying to get comfortable, and realizes he's not in his bed in the hotel room they rented last night, but on the damp sand of the beach.

"Oh God," he moans as flashes of the night before come back to him. Everything is hazy, as if viewed through the bottom of a bottle, which isn't far from the truth.

"S'all your fault, Moony," Sirius mumbles in his ear, and even that low rumbling tone is too loud for his aching head. "'M'parents met in Blackpool. We should go,'" he mimics, reminding Remus of the conversation that had led to this particular bit of lunacy. "Learn to keep your ruddy mouth shut around Evans. She's mad, you know. Completely mad. I mean, she's marrying _James_. We cannot fathom the utter insanity of a mind like that. Not to mention what must be a hollow leg. Or a liver made of titanium." Lily can drink them all under the table and still turn turtles into perfect teapots at the end of the night. Sirius is convinced this is a sign of impending sociopathy, but James finds it utterly charming.

"I'm not the one who let the bride-to-be plan the stag party," Remus replies, his voice raw from too much whisky and, "Oh God, there was singing."

"Aye, Fernando," Sirius replies woefully.

"Oh God, there was _Abba_." Remus knows it's not manly to cry, but the sudden memory of himself, Peter, Sirius and James wearing feather boas and shaking maracas and dancing to the tune of "Fernando" while Lily clapped and laughed is enough to make even the most masculine man weep. Remus has never been the most masculine man; the only reason he doesn't cry is because it would hurt too much in his current state. "Please kill me now."

"It gets worse."

"How could it possibly get worse?" He opens his eyes, the sunlight like a million diamond-sharp knives to his brain, to see sand-encrusted Sirius standing over him in y-fronts and a t-shirt.

"She tossed our trousers in the ocean."

He slowly raises himself up on his elbows so he can see the tide crashing in, a scattering of trousers lying abandoned on the shoreline.

"Those were my favorite jeans, too," he says mournfully, letting himself fall flat again. He closes his eyes, convinced he can feel the earth spinning beneath him, gravity in all its viciousness keeping him moored to the surface so he just _spins spins spins_ along, getting queasier by the second.

"Come on," Sirius says, bending over and offering him a hand. "Upsy daisy. There's a good Moony."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes." Sirius is relentless, but that's okay when he finds himself swaying against the hard wall of Sirius's chest. He rests his head on Sirius's shoulder, smelling stale cigarettes, whisky and the sea. Sirius strokes his hair gently and presses a warm kiss to his forehead. "That's my Moony." He makes some inarticulate sound against Sirius's neck as Sirius walks him down to the water, which is cold even on this warm August morning, and holds him as the tide threatens to take him away.

"It was a good night," he says finally, raising his head and squinting against the sun. He can always tell how good the night before was by how bad the morning after is.

Sirius nods, and they cling to each other for a few minutes while the tide rushes in.

*


End file.
